


take me under with you

by OldEmeraldEye



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alpha Echo (The 100), Alpha Lexa (The 100), Because A/B/O, Beta Anya, Dubious Consent, F/F, Getting Together, Grounder Culture, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Mating Rituals, Multi, Non-Traditional Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Omega Clarke Griffin, Pack Dynamics, Wanheda Clarke Griffin, an orange on the citrus scale, based on a dream and plotted while desperatly wishing to get back to sleep
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-27
Updated: 2019-06-27
Packaged: 2020-05-20 17:22:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,353
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19381300
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OldEmeraldEye/pseuds/OldEmeraldEye
Summary: Omegas are creation, are lifegivers, and Omegas are death to those they set themselves against. Wanheda who is also an Omega unbound to any mortal ties is the threat of power uncaring and unchecked - destruction for all the clans should she lose herself in her heat.





	take me under with you

**Author's Note:**

> Left align is Clarke's POV, center is everyone else, right aligned text is Wanheda breaking through.
> 
> Hozier's From Eden was the mood I was trying for with this, so feel free to throw that on while you read.

Niylah notices the first traces of heat in her scent when she’s brought a pair of rabbits to trade for furs and red berry dye. She tempts Clarke into the shelter of her sleeping chamber, gives her tea to delay the onset, and another to make her sleep. Clarke doesn’t seem to notice the effects of either, not when offered the use of Niylah’s bed after months of sleeping up trees or in a damp cave.

When Wanheda is safely asleep, Niylah secures her station against the attention of common thieves, saddles the horse and sets off for Polis with her cargo clutched before her at full speed.

 

 

In Polis, the choosing ceremony has begun.

The largest room in the tower has been subdivided into fourteen sections with leather and fur serving as the curtains. Directly opposite the entrance to the chamber, Heda’s throne sits empty and shadowed in the gloom.

In each of the twelve sections, silent alphas from the clans and the strongest of the Betas sit, stand and crouch, each chosen according to the custom of their clan. All of them, waiting in their own contained areas.

 

Clarke is submerged, drifting deep in the swelling tide of her heat as she is prepared by a team of betas. Nyko, the lone omega, keeps her calm by his presence, away from the doors and from giving into her instincts just yet.

He holds her away from that final drop, slowing her descent just a little more.  She hasn’t hit her mating drive yet, will not - must not - do so this cycle, but two betas prepare her thighs with artificial slick, even as the rest paint the rest of her body with scent gels, telling the story of Wanheda.

The red scent markings of her kills along her back is like running into a wall, so many and so potent that she bleeds with them, are offset by the calming blue swirls of her healings across and along her arms. The strength of her leadership is painted on her face, and the gently clinking beads in her hair are as much a product of the earth and the work of craftspeople as they are the stars she was born from.

Despite the multitude of artificial scents that cover her, the steadily strengthening sweetness of her omega shines through.

 

Both in a daze and in perfect clarity, she makes her way through the rooms, unobtrusively shadowed by Nyko. The area is full, of people and candles and gently swaying drapery, but their quite stillness makes them half unreal and unthreatening. She drifts, exploring each section as it emerges before her. One has infants, asleep in carrying baskets laid in a row by the furs furthest from the clustered throng that. One rouses under her investigation and she moves on

Only two stand out. In the Trikru section, there is a beta that scents well to her, and does not flinch at her cloud of death as she comes close, and in the Azgada, next to the throne Roan is lounging on, another interesting individual. Strong, confident, and doesn’t intentionally raise her hackles as the prince does for his own amusement. She finds the presence is comforting, like the warmth of a fur against the chill from the open window.

After completing the circuit after an age and in no time at all, she emerges into the central area to stand before a familiar throne. She recognizes it, with a dull unidentifiable emotion at seeing it empty. Lost in her contemplation, she is heedless of her shadow’s actions and the way curtains are partially parted in response. It takes the soft murmur of senseless noise, muffled but widespread across the room to bring her attention back from half glimpsed memories.

Even as the room quietens into an expectant hush, four emerge from their transient caves into her clearing in this forest of scents and shadows.

Nyko is a known quality, and makes no effort to draw her attention to himself. He settles into the background, and she instinctively knows he is safety, that his presence allows her attention to stray to the others without worry.

They are three - the warm stranger, the one she knows but cannot name, and another, lighter clothed – of the Plains or Shadow Leaf clans - spread into an arc facing her, a step distant but close enough to touch. Waiting.

Waiting for her.

She is given the opportunity to investigate them further, and she does. They have not changed noticeably from her first meeting of them, perhaps slightly sharper now that they are no longer hidden by the crowd. She allows their scenting of her in return, until the male tastes a strip of her throat, and nips in at the skin under her jaw.

_His teeth close, and pull on something that is deeper in her than blood. She does not gift it, and he cannot contain it. He is drowned, dragged under -_

Clarke pulls back at the sensation – and her lethargy is disappearing now, though her limbs are still heavy she burns with restless energy, spoiling for something she doesn’t know how to name – and snaps at him, teeth catching at the air before his face.

_She bites, deep in his throat, deeper than blood or bone – and even that does not satisfy, for her teeth are sharp, and she -_

The pack she has chosen close ranks on him, and his retreat is total before Nykos growl. Alphas may kill, but an Omega roused to violence destroys until there is nothing left to rage against. She feels the tugging at her chest settle at their actions, soothed.

More words sing through the air as he disappears from her world and she resumes the important task of taking in the scent of the alphas she has chosen for the pack – strong, trustworthy, good guardians of her nest, strong defenders for her den.

 

Nyko leaves the three of them to their own devices and makes his way out through the large doors.

They regard each other warily, as high ranked on opposing sides do when suddenly given a common interest, but Wanheda is their priority now, more so than the entire grouping of clans, and they have no doubt that she’d turn her teeth on them too if they were to fight.

All that remains of the procedure is Heda officially bringing the ceremony to a close, allowing the unsuccessful to leave and they can focus of finding an acceptable nest to finish out the heat. For now, neck nuzzling, and allowing the mingling of their scents with their omega.

Heda arrives, doors opening before her with a flourish that spreads her coat like wings. Anya barely refrains from rolling her eyes, is sufficiently distracted by her current proximity to Wanheda’s scent gland that Heda’s dignity is not unduly threatened.

 

The sudden influx of fresh air catches Clarke’s attention. Even as curtains are being pulled back to open the space into a single large area, she takes small unhurried steps towards her, scenting the air.

 

Lexa’s eyes widen at her approach. She doesn’t step back – can’t, is not able to show weakness, not in front of the gathered representative of the clans. Anya and Eco, without their buffer, find themselves far too close to each other and step apart, then turn to watch as Clarke, entirely without thought to political ramification, steps up and sticks her head between shoulder and neck of the ruler of the coalition. Lexa is still as a startled deer, back ramrod straight and tenser than the string of a warbow.

 

Protestations immediately break out around them. Clarke recognizes Wanheda among the shouted words, and not much else, but there is anger, and Lexa steps away from her. The other alphas of the pack are by her side, but she is never one to back away from aggression, so she steps in front of all of them and snarls at the loudest protesters until they retreat before her fury.

She is Wanheda, and she is Omega, and she will choose her mates as _she_ sees fit.


End file.
